


Better Things

by impasto



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-15
Updated: 2007-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-10 17:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impasto/pseuds/impasto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon is always right. Ryan forgets, sometimes, that doing what Brendon wants is good for him, too, because Brendon's not a selfish guy.</p><p>For <a href="http://shellies.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://shellies.livejournal.com/"><strong>shellies</strong></a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Things

"C'mon, please? You know you want to," Brendon wheedles, fingertips sneaking under the hem of Ryan's shirt, grazing soft skin. He rubs his thumb along the groove of Ryan's hip bone, worming closer and tilting his head to watch Ryan's face.  


There's nothing for a moment, and Brendon's just about to break out the pout when Ryan huffs out a sigh and lets his notebook fall to the table. Brendon beams, nuzzling Ryan's shoulder, and Ryan's looking down at him and maybe some would say he looks exasperated but Brendon is quite sure the proper term is adoring. How could anyone not love him?  


He only feels more certain when Ryan kisses the tip of his nose, and he doesn't protest when Brendon pushes up a little more until their mouths meet and shift; oh, and there's the right angle, and Brendon doesn't even have to flick his tongue across Ryan's lip before he's opening, meeting Brendon right there, and there's warm breath on his cheek and Ryan tastes like the Capri Sun that's still sitting on the table. Brendon hums, a little triumphant, and when his fingernails brush lightly over Ryan's side there's the most wonderful sound and a hitch in Ryan's breath and Brendon's sure he's won, nipping gently at Ryan's lower lip.  


Ryan's hand comes up to curl around Brendon's neck, and that's nice. Then he's squeezing a little and pulling back, holding Brendon in place, and Ryan's eyes are dark and his lips are damp and there's no reason why they shouldn't still be kissing, why aren't they still kissing? Brendon tries to press forward but there's a finger against his lips and that's definitely the look that means Ryan has something to say. So Brendon waits because he does listen, sometimes, really. And there's still a smile playing on Ryan's lips as he says, "I really was trying to write, you know."  


Brendon tries to look contrite, but the effect might be spoiled by the fact that he's licking Ryan's finger, sucking it into his mouth, eyes half-closing as he hums happily. Ryan forgets, sometimes, that doing what Brendon wants is good for him, too, because Brendon's not a selfish guy. He's quite sure that Ryan will have just as good a time as he will, plus Brendon won't be bored anymore, so everybody wins.  


Ryan wiggles his finger a bit, tapping Brendon's tongue, and Brendon looks up with wide eyes. Ryan just chuckles and shakes his head; pulls his finger away and brushes his thumb over Brendon's lips. "Alright, then, what've you got planned?"  


Brendon bounces in his seat and grabs Ryan's hand, pulling him up to his feet. "You'll love it," he promises, wrapping his arms around Ryan's middle. Ryan rolls his eyes but Brendon's fully prepared to hug the doubt right out of him, pulling him closer and pressing his face into Ryan's neck and squeezing until Ryan's hands settle on his back and squeeze back. Brendon nods, grinning, and tugs Ryan into the living room.  


"You, sit." Ryan goes easily when Brendon guides him to couch, hands light on his shoulders. See, Ryan really does want to do all the things Brendon wants to do; he just needs a little convincing. Brendon sinks to the floor in front of the television, flipping through their collection of DVDs until he finds the one he's looking for. "There!" He sets it in the player and grabs the remotes before flopping next to Ryan. Brendon pokes him a little, manhandling him until Brendon can stretch out behind him. "You're blocking my view, Ross," Brendon whines, and Ryan can take a hint, even if he does stick his tongue out before lying down with Brendon, fitting snugly together on the cushions.  


Brendon nuzzles Ryan's hair, tucking his head under Brendon's chin, and when Brendon slides his arm around Ryan's waist, Ryan's hand clasps his to keep him there. Brendon smiles and presses 'play.'  


"_Notting Hill_?" Ryan snorts a little and Brendon shushes him.  


"It's a classic, dude. And you can't not love Hugh Grant! I'll even let you be Anna Scott this time."  


Ryan laughs and twists to look up at Brendon. "You're a dork, you know that? And you'd totally be Spike."  


Brendon makes a face and bends to lick a broad swipe across Ryan's cheek. "Would not. I'm the lovable yet humble romantic hero, duh." Ryan wrinkles his nose and squirms in Brendon's arms. "You love me!"  


Ryan's long-suffering sigh is answer enough; Brendon kisses his cheek and murmurs smugly, "Knew it. Besides," he adds as Julia Roberts walked into Hugh Grant's tiny little bookshop, "can you think of anything better to do?"  


Ryan looks at him sidelong and grins, fleeting and sharp. "I could think of a few things," he murmurs, his hand tightening over Brendon's and pushing it toward the waistband of his jeans. It takes Brendon a moment to catch on, his attention still half on Hugh's adorably floppy haircut, but when Ryan asks, "Do you need another hint?" and tugs his t-shirt up so that Brendon can touch warm bare skin, only a fool would watch a bunch of romantic clichés on T.V. when he's got his very own cliché right here, unbuttoning and unzipping his fly and watching Brendon through half-lidded eyes. Ryan looks downright _edible_ like this, and Brendon's no dummy. He shifts, pushing up on one elbow and tugging Ryan onto his back, dropping his head to nose at Ryan's cheek, press kisses along his jaw as Brendon's hand smoothes over Ryan's belly, taut with an intake of breath.  


Brendon licks at the seam of Ryan's lips and they part easily; there are fingers threading through Brendon's hair as they kiss. His hand moves, blindly but surely, curling around Ryan's hip and shoving fabric down, and Ryan's twisting beneath him, trying in all probability to help Brendon, but the way he's arching against Brendon and making little keening sounds is really more distracting than anything. Brendon tugs Ryan's lip gently between his teeth and counts himself lucky that he gets Ryan's jeans and underwear halfway down his thighs before he just needs to _touch_, catching Ryan in his fist and swallowing Ryan's gasp. It's all a blur of heat and sound and friction and Ryan's ankle hooking around his own, trying to get closer, closer, please, closer and –  


Ryan slumps against Brendon, breathing hard, and Brendon paints his wet fingers over Ryan's belly just because he can. Ryan only shivers and moves closer, and Brendon wraps his free arm around Ryan's back. With a satisfied grin he licks his thumb clean before resting a finger on Ryan's lips, and Ryan takes him in without even opening his eyes. Brendon watches, a little awed, as Ryan's cheeks hollow, his lips pursed, until he releases Brendon's finger and nuzzles blindly until he finds the next, and when Brendon's almost spit-clean, Ryan laps at his palm, tiny little kitten licks, and if Brendon wasn't already turned on, lord, he would be now. He watches Ryan swallow, and only then does he open his eyes, blinking up at Brendon with a soft smile.  


"Anything else you had in mind?"  


Ryan nods, his hand already snaking underneath Brendon's shirt, and the next time Brendon looks at the television, he has no idea how long the title menu has been repeating itself. It really doesn't matter.


End file.
